We Meet Again
by Perennial5
Summary: It's been a very long time since Once-ler has seen his family. Something around the number of 50 years, in fact. One morning, he finally sees his brothers again. Oneshot.


**We Meet Again**

Once-ler's day started well enough. He'd looked out his window that morning to see a sky bluer than he'd ever seen. It still surprised him sometimes; he was still so, so used to the dark, clouded skies that had remained over his home for probably more than 50 years. It was nice, though, to wake to a sunbeam presenting itself across the wall of his bedroom.

He rarely made solid plans on how to spend his day. He was sure that Ted wasn't going to be coming around that day, leaving his day completely open to whatever he wanted to do.

First, he made breakfast. He cracked a few eggs into a bowl and poured in a smidge of milk. It was a french toast sort of day. Yesterday had been a pancake day. He shuffled through the cabinet above his gas stove looking for the cinnamon, only to find it in the solid stick form instead of the pre-ground form. Grinding the cinnamon was too much work. He'd just throw in some sugar instead.

He would need to have some more groceries delivered. He tossed the last of his bread into the mix and then into a buttered pan. In the end, he'd cooked up 4 slices of french toast.

Unfortunately, he realized, just as he'd sat down and taken a bite of a piece of french toast, that sugar was a very poor substitute for cinnamon. The meal ended up being a little sweet, especially considering he'd smothered the whole thing with syrup beforehand. He couldn't let it go to waste. He made himself eat it, and then placed the dish into the newfangled dishwasher that Ted and his family had insisted on him installing.

Then, he decided, he'd do some knitting. Ted had given him a few new spools of yarn to use in his knitting. It was high quality thread, too. He was quite eager to see what he could make with it.

Knitting always went nice with some music. He had a collection of records in a cabinet next to his record player. They were some of the few things that he had ended up inheriting from his family. Well, more like they'd left it behind before taking off. His hand stopped just before the knob of the cabinet door as the memory returned to him in full force. It had been so, so long ago, yet it was as fresh in his mind as the day it had occurred, almost as if the 50 something years that had followed were nothing more than a vague dream-

_He was standing there. He watched his family drive away, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind them. Then, they were gone. Everything was gone. Though it was merely a few seconds of looking around, the reality crashed in on him. There was nothing. Nothing but tree stumps for miles and miles and miles and miles. Nothing but smogged up skies and gunked up rivers for miles and miles and miles and miles-_

He blinked, and waved the memory away with a shake of his head. The cabinet door was open. He must have pulled it open while half in thought.

There weren't that many records, and there were even fewer records that he enjoyed listening to on a regular basis. Most of the music consisted of either swing music or slow tunes. The collection was, however, perfect for specific activities that required specific music. He rifled through the cabinet, glancing at a record here and there, trying to find the best one.

Then, he found the perfect one. The record he pulled from the cabinet was titled, 'We'll Meet Again.' Vera Lynn. She was a wonderful singer, and her music would be perfect for a day of quiet knitting. He pulled the record from out of its cover, put it onto the record player, and placed the needle.

He couldn't help but sway a bit and hum the opening bars of the first song, before getting his knitting supplies and plopping down on the couch. He was just about to make the slipknot for casting on, when there was a knock at his door. Four precise, perfectly in time knocks.

He groaned aloud. He wasn't expecting a delivery or any visitors. He was torn between answering the door or letting whoever was there simply leave. On one hand, they had probably come from Thneedville, meaning it had been a somewhat lengthy journey to get to his home. On the other hand, he really wanted to just sit down and knit quietly.

Four more knocks. Precise once more in number, and still perfectly in time. He groaned again. It would be rude to leave whoever was out there hanging. He put his knitting needles aside, listened to a few of his joints pop as he rose from his chair, and headed towards the door. Then, he opened it.

Behind the door were two old, identical men. Twins.

His brothers.

For a few moments, he was completely shocked. Were they angry at him? Should they be? Was _he_ angry at _them_? Did he have the right to be? There had been no time to prepare-

"It's, uh, Brett n' Chett," said Chett. Had to be him, always taking initiative with the conversation.

"I recognize you," He replied, a little flat for someone who was seeing his brothers for the first time after 50 something years.

All three stood there and blinked at one another for a moment, before Once-ler waved them inside. He sat where he had been sitting before they had arrived, and watched them shuffle in. Brett's posture hadn't done any improving over the years apparently, and neither had Chett's.

They were old. His last memory of them, when they were youthful and bright, the one his mind conjured whenever he dared take a trip down memory lane, was quickly replaced with what he saw before him.

He waved for them to take a seat in the adjacent sofa. They sat, side by side, blinking at him the same exact way they had always before they'd left. Before they'd left him.

"Ma died," Chett said.

"Wh.. What? When?" He asked.

"Two weeks ago."

Once-ler just blinked over at them. Two- two weeks ago? Sure they meant something like 10 years ago. Chett was always terrible with numbers-

"Died at 95," Brett interjected, with that same stilted way of speaking where it sounded like he had to pry the words out he was sometimes prone to, with his arms curled up like he always had them.

Music continued to play softly in the background.

"When's the funeral?" He asked.

"There warn't none. We put her body in the ground as cheap n' fast as the cemetery would allow," Chett replied.

Once-ler hmmed in response. A strange silence, one that would have been easy to break decades ago, permeated the room. Finally, he broke it. "Why warn't there a funeral?"

Brett's face remained flat as ever, but Chett wasn't so neutral. He made the most disgusted face that Once-ler had seen in a long while. "She warn't worth wasting money on."

Once-ler had to ask the question. His question. The one he'd been wondering for ages and ages. "Why didn't y'all two come back?"

Chett looked down at the thickly carpeted floor. Brett started to shake one of his legs. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about it.

He had to know. "Why did y'all two leave me here? Why didn't- Why didn't y'all come back to see me? Y'all- y'all left me all alone for DECADES-" He couldn't help but be on the verge of tears.

Chett finally spoke up. "We can explain. You just gotta let us."

A moment of silence passed. Once-ler, eyes squinted to try and keep from crying, finally nodded.

Chett nodded. "When we left, we had no idea what was going on with your business. Nobody told us nothing. All we knew was you'd run outta material. Ma drove us home in silence. Shushed us whenever we tried to talk to her. Then, we got back home, and…" he cast his face downwards, once more examining the carpet. "Well, ma said you'd taken off with all the money and left us out to dry."

Brett cut in. "We was PISSED you'd done that. We believed her, 'cuz of the way you'd been treating us 'fore we left. We- we just never came back. We… hated you."

Once-ler blinked. He had absolutely not done that. He'd even talked to his mother before she left. He'd given her a good chunk of his fortune to take care of the family.

Then, he realized his fatal error. He hadn't given anything to Chett or Brett. He hadn't thought them capable of managing their own affairs.

He was clearly wrong. Somehow he'd trusted his mother to actually do the right thing.

"Well, when she died about two weeks back, she told us she'd lied," Chett continued. "She'd sat on top of all that money. Threw it into some bank account. She said, when she was dying, that she never touched a dime of it. Then she died, and her will left it all to us."

Once-ler felt he ought to be angry. Extremely angry. He was sure a small part of him was. Most of him just felt disappointed, as if the back of his mind had known such a thing was going to happen all along. "I see why y'all didn't visit."

"We're sorry, Once. We should of never listened to ma," Chett said.

"It's… alright. I know y'all aren't good at knowing when someone's lying."

"That ain't no excuse. Us being stupid left you out here for 50 somethin' years," Brett replied. Chett nodded in agreement.

He sighed. "I didn't treat y'all very nice when… when I was successful. It makes sense y'all would believe ma."

The silence that followed was much less tense, much less angry, much less distressed. It was an easier silence.

"We can, uh, catch you up on what we got up to while we was gone," Chett offered.

Decades of family business, and he'd missed all of it. "What happened to auntie Griselda and uncle Ubb?" He paused, briefly. "How'd they… you know, do after they left?"

Chett's face looked just a smidge brighter. "Auntie Griselda went to live in Cantertown. She believed ma too. Started her own business designing clothes, using the experience she got from when you'd sold Thneeds as a fashion item. Made a pretty penny, even got her brand in a few stores."

Brett frowned. "Never did do her hair up so it looked normal."

Once-ler hmmed. Auntie Griselda was like that, always doing what she wanted instead of what others told her to do.

"How'd she die?" he asked, bluntly. How else do you phrase such a question?

Brett spoke up. "Someone broke into her house. She'd grabbed her gun to take care of it but… the guy shot first. She died cussing about it in the hospital. So, died about 5 years after we left."

He wasn't surprised. Auntie Griselda always said what she had to say. "What happened to uncle Ubb?"

Both of his brothers looked a little sad. "Went back to writing for the local newspaper, like he'd never left," Chett said. "I don't think he ever truly believed ma. Never talked about it though. He was quiet-like, you know that…" he glanced over at Brett, who had begun to doze off.

They both let him.

"Well, uncle Ubb got sick," he said, biting his bottom lip. "Lung cancer. He got treated and all that, but all it did was slow it down. Didn't stop him from writing, though. You remember that novel he started a few weeks before you left to go sell your Thneed?"

Once-ler nodded. His uncle, who was generally a quiet man, had rambled about it every time he'd come over. He had been practically bouncing off the walls. "I remember, before I left, he couldn't stop talking about it."

Chett nodded. "As soon as he heard he was sick, he started typing like a madman. I swear he lived by that damn typewriter. We had to come around and make sure he ate and took care of himself." He paused to let out a wheezy chuckle. "We convinced him to let us time him once-"

"Typed 150 words in a minute," Brett suddenly said. He hadn't even opened his eyes.

"He's real good at sleeping and listening," Chett explained.

"150?! Was he still using that weird typewriter he had? The, uh…" he waved a hand through the air, trying to remember, "the Dvorak one?" Once-ler asked.

"Sure was. Wouldn't let us get him an electronic one neither."

They all smiled at that, Brett looking a little silly smiling with his eyes closed. Some folks were too stubborn to move on from their old technology. He couldn't help but glance over at the record player.

"Well…" Chett continued, "he died 5 months after he finished his novel. Wrote for the newspaper right until the very end. We're surprised he didn't die over that damn typewriter."

Once-ler glanced down. His brain had a question he really didn't want to ask, but he had to anyway. "Did he get lung cancer from when… from when I had him work out in the smog?"

Chett looked a little uncomfortable. "Well… we cain't be sure… but you know he never smoked a day in his life-"

"-And the air's clean as can be out near Cantertown," Brett finished.

"We… I should've never made him work out there," Once-ler said. He'd never thought about the risks, hadn't even felt bad putting his own family out to work. "I… regret that-"

"It's over now. The air's nice out, the sky's blue again. There's them little fluffy trees growing out the ground. Ubb cain't feel bad or mad about it 'cuz he's dead now. He warn't mad when he died, neither," Brett said, eyes open now, attempting to console.

And Brett was right, in that blunt, straightforward way of his. "No use dwelling on it," he replied. "What did y'all get up to?"

Chett suddenly looked really excited. "We went to college! Me n' Brett."

Brett nodded, looking quite proud of himself. "Since we was first generation college students, some fellers gave us money to go. We covered the rest with money from the farm with… with ma… who could've paid for it."

"Well, Brett here got his master's in electrical engineering."

Brett nudged his brother. "Tell him what you got."

Chett looked down at the carpet again. "You ain't gonna believe what I went and did."

Once-ler, his curiosity piqued, briefly ran through the possibilities. Some kind of literary degree? Maybe something to do with history? "Well, what did you go for?" he asked.

"I uh… I went to medical school. Became a brain doctor!"

"A neurosurgeon," Brett clarified.

Once-ler tried very, very hard to not seem like he hadn't thought Chett capable. He could hardly believe he'd get through college with his difficulty dealing with other people, much less being able to get into medical school. A neurosurgeon? He blinked a few times, and replied, "Y'all did good, then." And, now that he thought about it, Chett had been one of the few people in the family with hands that didn't shake.

"Yep, when you're during surgery on someone's brain, everyone's real quiet. Much easier to deal with than working at the grocery store," Chett said, who somehow had made it to where doing actual brain surgery was easier than bagging groceries. "And… I just wanted to help people."

Once-ler nodded. It seemed like his mother's inherited mean streak had faded in all of them.

It was quiet again, all that could be heard was Vera Lynn singing in the background. Both of his brothers were suddenly quiet, as if gearing up to say something important.

Chett finally spoke. "We started families. And uh… we both want you to come meet your nieces and nephews, and the rest of them."

"We don't want you to be alone no more. We want you to be part of the family, and we're sorry we didn't come around sooner. Even if we was mad, we should've come… come around. Now we got hardly any time to spend together," Brett said.

A family. They wanted him to be apart of their families. They wanted to be his family.

It had been a very, very long time since he'd had a family.

Growing up, his brothers were the closest family he lived with. His father was… gone. His mother was terrible. But his brothers had always been there, in all their rough around the edges glory, and they had come back. And they wanted to be his family again.

He couldn't help it. He burst into tears. Maybe it he had just developed an emotional delay and was now just being affected by his brothers appearing. Maybe becoming old had made him soft. Maybe he just really needed to cry.

Chett and Brett glanced at each other, not sure what to do.

"Come here," Once-ler said, standing up.

They both stood up, and were quickly swept into a hug by their weeping brother.

The record player finally reached its last song. 'We'll Meet Again' began to play, intermingling with the sound of Once-ler's crying, Chett's sniffling, and Brett trying to comfort the both of them.

Once-ler finally stepped back, smiling through his bittersweet tears, and said, "I'd love to come see my family."

Chett grinned ear to ear. Brett gave a smaller, but just as genuine, smile.

"We cain't wait for you to meet them."

**~The End~**


End file.
